


From Zero to a Hundred

by SYNdicate930



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Drunkenness, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, House Party, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SYNdicate930/pseuds/SYNdicate930
Summary: In which things go from zero to one hundred real fast.





	1. 0%

**Author's Note:**

> Hair from Jealousy era.

**Saturday, 18:12**

I really can’t help but pity the liquor mart staff eying the three of us skitter around the store from behind the beige counter. For some obtuse reason, Minhyuk and Jooheon insists on purchasing eight bottles of Tequila, seven bottles of Vodka, four bottles of Fireball (disgusting), thirty-six cans of beer, four bottles of whiskey (Canadian, of course) and what appears to be twelve bottles of one litre of Smirnoff Ices, which, to my apparent surprise, is somehow a thing now readily available for unsafe consumption. I’m almost certain you can find the name “Lee Minhyuk”beside the word “excess” in most dictionaries; this boy has never familiarized himself with the meaning of or how to do things in moderation. 

“Should we get some Jägermeister too? We can stop by the corner store on the way back to your house to pick up some Redbull. You and Changkyun love Jäger-bombs.” Jooheon says.

Minhyuk shakes his head in assurance. “No need. I bought a few bottles and a couple packs of Redbull the other day after work. We should be good for now.”

With intense struggle and derisory strength to gain momentum to roll our cart down the aisle, I ask, “Don’t you think we have enough? This is a ton of alcohol, you guys. Not to mention this is going to cost a lot.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all on me tonight, remember?” Minhyuk winks. “I’m paying. You guys just have fun tonight, okay?”

Where did all this money originate from? Who knows, really? Minhyuk’s parents hold high positions in Samsung and are actively involved in the American Stock market, and, while he’s very adamant he doesn’t receive any helping hands here and there, I find it quite difficult to believe mommy and daddy don’t throw their only and, by default, favorite child a bone or two every so often. But that was simply his upbringing and I can’t fault him for it; as ordinary as he thinks himself to be, having billionaire parents is not at all average. 

I blink. He always offers to pay, but it still catches me off guard each time. “Well shit, thanks, Minhyuk.” 

“No matter what, all house parties are always on me.” Minhyuk states confidently with an affectionate grin, motioning to the two of use with a bottle of champagne. “Even at your place and your place.”

Jooheon looks at me, and shrugs. “Sweet. Thanks, dude. Don’t think we’d ever want or ask for this much, though.” 

Jooheon, on the other hand, is as much of a dear friend as he is an immensely effective enabler, for both Minhyuk and myself. If there is someone who can convince me to do something I typically never would, it’s probably because of Jooheon. 

Security-staff scrutinize our steadily growing cart with questionable side glances, but none of us are aware enough or care enough to notice or mention it. While Minhyuk and Jooheon do a final lap around the perimeter of the shop, taking their sweet time to peruse and select a diaphanous bottle of wine in elegant packaging and presentation, all the while arguing if it’s a white or red they truly want, I half-heartedly trail behind them closely, idly, arms folded against the shopping cart with an indifferent stare, and prolonged yawn. I’m only here because the duo picked me up and dragged me by my ears, forcefully abducting me from my apartment kitchen into the backseat of Minhyuk’s hummer. Again, mommy and daddy’s money.

As much as I love them, that leftover fried chicken and Thai-style spicy fried rice at home isn’t going to reheat and consume itself. Perhaps we’ll order pizza and breadsticks again? I pray to whatever deity, benevolent or malevolent, hears my pleas that Minhyuk has some sort of food he’ll let me snack on while the three of us decorate and prepare his house in Gangnam.  _ Again _ , mommy and daddy’s money.

Call it intuition, although, I like to refer to it as being friends with Minhyuk and long enough to know better, but I have an uncanny premonition of unsavory occurrences and more bodies crammed into Minhyuk’s house than I am personally comfortable being around tonight. The eventual chaos is more than certainly inevitable as tomorrow’s hangover and regrettable text messages. Though not by any means a role model or mature, but irrefutably less impetuous and juvenile, there is a very justifiable reason that I hold onto both of their phones when they pass three shots – sometimes two when Jooheon can’t tell the difference between a double shot glass from a single shot glass.

Bless his soul.

Body shots, unnecessarily loud music, bottles and cans littered about the immaculately disgraced house and any available horizontal surface, people making out within the first minute of meeting, people undressing within the first hour of meeting, strangers brawling, vomit somewhere it shouldn’t be (which, if you ask me, is literally  _ anywhere  _ outside of the body), uncomfortable advances and glances, and, somehow, even  _ more _ body shots – the list goes on for another mile or so. I have both seen and managed to survive every shitty party trope one can think of or think  _ up _ . It’s no wonder people sometimes line up around the block to get in – they’re literally so lit, I’ve had to put out at least two fires.

The first time was from some girl who didn’t put out her cigarette bud properly in the backyard (apparently), which is already an odd circumstance for a fire to erupt (though a small one); and the second time was when Jooheon farted into a lighter after losing a bet to his friend Changkyun. For the record, Jooheon was totally sober when that happened.

“What about this wine?” Jooheon inquires, hoisting a dark bottle with an elegantly long neck and wide base. I stop next to them in the Italian wine section, mumbling under my breath small attempts at pronouncing the foreign combination of letters and accents over vowels, knowing enough to read but not nearly enough to sound convincingly fluent. People say French and Spanish are the languages of love, but I’d really beg to differ – I quite like Italian. Something about it is so delightfully charming and vivaious, it’s a shame it gets overshadowed by other languages and shitty Mario impressions. To my left, Jooheon eyes the deep burgundy tinted glass in a trance, providing added care to the top of the neck before nodding in affirmation. “Yo, yo, yo! It’s got a screw-on lid; we won’t need to search up how to undo corks without a corkscrew this time.”

“Thank god.” Minhyuk states, gratefully. I snicker. That’s another story for another time. But, just so you know, you can probably find videos and pictures of it somewhere online.

Yeah, it was  _ that _ bad.

“So this one?” Jooheon makes a move to put it in the cart.

“Hmm… I don’t know. Last time you picked out wine, it tasted like dirt.” Minhyuk folds his arms over his chest contemplatively, as if what wine they decide to purchase matters in any capacity at this point. They, and everyone else in attendance tonight, just want to consume any inhibiting substance. Minus myself.

Maybe.

Don’t quote me on that.

We’ll see.

_ We’ll see. _

“You still drank it, though.” Counters Jooheon. 

Minhyuk laughs a bit, shrugging. “Yeah, okay, you have a point.” 

“Hyungwon, should we go with this one?” Jooheon turns his attention to me. His bright yellow pullover does nothing for his evened complexion; however, it complements the core buoyancy in his jocose personality that anyone within a seven mile radius couldn’t possibly miss. “You drink wine more than the rest of us. You kind of remind me of my aunties, come to think of it.”

“Thank you?” I tilt my head questionably. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Any time, dude.”  He beams, shooting corny finger-guns in my direction. “So, this one? The store’s closing soon, and we still need to check out.” 

With arms still pressed against the trolley handle, I raise my shoulders shyly in an insignificant shrug nearly lost in the added layers of my purple knit-sweater and large bomber jacket. I have never possessed or been attributed the image, reputation or characteristics of being of a party-kind-of-guy, or any sort of socially capable butterfly like Minhyuk and Jooheon, though the latter is debatable more often than not. If anything, I’ve been told the first impression people have of me is that of your run of the mill introvert. But, when approached by strangers and acquaintances, I can, to some degree, tackle small talk comfortably, keep chit chat lighthearted and, at times, charming and somewhat mentally stimulating, but I admit to lacking in most forms of interaction that demand initiative from me. Especially at social gatherings.

Despite spending a great portion of my waking life as a content homebody, I am young and relatively reckless as far as adults go. While I can’t deny having some higher levels of introversion than extroversion that make nights-in slightly more appealing that nights-outs, I have been properly socialized for my age group to acknowledge, when it comes to drinking and parties, it doesn’t matter what alcohol is in your cup because all that matters is if it’ll fuck you up, right? 

“What percentage is it?” I question.

It requires a little over a second before the cogs in his Jooheon’s head begin to noticeably turn, and a near blinding light turns on. He smiles.  After one last glance, he passes the bottle over to me with an amused response. “Fifteen percent.”

I pause.

I place it in the cart.

In between the Tequila and 1 litre Smirnoff Ices.

On our way to the register, Jooheon and Minhyuk become engrossed in their cellphones amidst my struggle to haul our hefty shopping cart towards the check-out. As I begin unloading the alcohol onto the counter to be scanned while they busy themselves on their mobiles, and I pray even harder that Minhyuk is ordering pizza and breadsticks. 

Suddenly, Jooheon begins to snicker. Our eyes meet, and his minor snickering doubles into boisterous laughter that makes the liquor mart cashiers flinch. “What’s so funny?” I ask, smiling. Damn his laughter for being so infectious.

“Yo, since when did you sleep with Hoseok?”

Minhyuk drops his phone, bouncing animatedly in immediate elation, eyes wide and fixated on me. “What? No way – you slept with Hoseok?”

Feeling an unwarranted sensation of being scandalized in front of the cashiers, I, without thinking, blurt out, “I slept with  _ who _ ?”

**Saturday, 22:47**

“Hoseok, I’m freezing.”

“Same.”

“But I’m so excited for tonight.”

“Same.” 

It’s Saturday night. It’s almost eleven o’clock. I think. I don’t really know, but I’m too cold to pull my phone out of my pocket to check. But that isn’t relevant, is it? 

I guess I should just begin where my night did. 

Getting ready for tonight had proved to be somewhat of a laborious endeavor, provided that I unintentionally extended my nap by over an hour, my apartment’s laundry machines are out of commission after last night’s power outage, and I had very limited time to prepare and an unusually restricted selection of clean apparel play around with. Thankfully, my supply of clean underwear exceeds my closet’s inventory, so at least I had one less stressor to occupy my admittedly fleeting attention. Clad head to toe in all black, I paired my over-sized black letterman jacket with the faux-leather sleeves with ripped-knee skinny jeans, vegan leather belt donning silver accents, my favorite pair of black Doc Martens (they’ve definitely seen better days), and an old plain black V-neck Hyunwoo told me complemented my pectorals and clavicles a few weeks back. As a fellow gym rat and someone who very much dresses to complement his physique, how could I  _ not _ take his fashion-advice?

Kihyun arrived at half past nine o’clock to pre-game while I was in the middle of my clothing dilemma and re-watching the Smelly Cat episode of Friends for the fourth time this fall, sporting what I recall to be one of Hyunwoo’s flannels, fitted on Hyunwoo, but endearingly oversized on Kihyun’s compact stature, and a fat hickey on his Adam’s apple. I was going to comment on it, but he cut me off as I stood in my apartment doorway with a curt “Hoseok, I fucking swear to god” before I had the chance. He knows me too well. 

Before we left my apartment, Kihyun said I had too much black on. But, with what little outfit choices to choose from, this combination was the most house-party-appropriate. He had suggested I couple my current pair of ripped black jeans with a burgundy button-up shirt I bought for a first date ages ago tucked in. But, the last time I wore a button-up, it got caught on one of Kihyun’s earrings as I carried him from the last party to Changkyun’s car, where he eventually tore off the button in a drunken attempt to free himself, leaving a wide hole in my shirt. It took me two days, a bottle of wine, and nine fingers and a toe pricked by that damn sewing needle just to fix the tear. To this day, the shirt looks a little off from my lackluster sewing skills and slight sewing needle induced trauma.

But, to be completely fair, that date I purchased the shirt for ended with absolutely zero action, so I didn’t really care for the shirt to begin with. Who knew continuously calling someone by the wrong name would piss them off? Okay, well, I did. But moving on, I only felt the strong need to fix that shirt so I wouldn’t feel guilty for tossing it in the trash or spending more than I should have on it.

“God, I’m so excited. I’ve been so stressed out with people wanting dumb cake requests this month.” Slurs Kihyun, but his words are punctuated enough that, if I didn’t watch him (or force him to) down some shots and chug a couple of beers, I would’ve assumed he was just below the threshold of tipsy.

Presently, Kihyun and I are ambling down a random side-street in Gangnam, a little intoxicated, talking a little too loudly, a little lost, but tremendously excited for tonight’s house party, in misguided pursuit for a friend of friend of a friend’s house (or something like that, though he’s become more of an acquaintance now) and, if I play my cards right, a cutie with a booty with no strings attached. 

Sue me.

I’ve never had any reason to be in the Gangnam area, and, for the most part, the rich stereotype for people who live here has always proved to be true in my experience. My upbringing was so conventionally average it was somehow quite remarkable by most standards in how ordinary it was. I grew up in an average neighborhood, with average friends, got average grades, while my parents worked average jobs to send me to an above-average private school. There, I developed somewhat of a bad taste for privileged boys and girls alike. Since meeting tonight’s host a few months back at Hyunwoo’s birthday, one could say my utter displeasure has softened into a slight disdain. Minhyuk, tonight’s gracious host, is someone I cannot see myself instigating or properly maintaining a deep friendship with, but, as far as I can see, he is good-humored, good-natured,  _ and _ he’s supplying tonight’s drinks and, in my books, that’s always a recipe for an all-around good person.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like working in a bakery. You make mad tips, though.” I reply.

“True. But still, the amount of stress brides-to-be put me through to make sure their wedding cakes are perfect is the worst.” Kihyun and I turn the corner when some idiot in a hummer speeds past us, honking wildly as the two of us jump back in shock. Without missing a beat, I flip the driver off with both hands and curse under my breath, seething.  _ What a fucking asshole. _

“Holy shit.” With gritted teeth, I clench and loosen my fists in an attempt to unwind and impede the fast coursing adrenaline in my veins. Once my blood starts to boil, it’s often hard to calm myself down quickly. “Jesus Christ, that guy could’ve sent us to the emergency. Are you alright? I swear, if I see that guy tonight…”

Kihyun appears to be out of breath, the adrenaline and shock having noticeably knocked the wind out of his lungs. His face is red, though, that could very well be the alcohol from earlier. With a reassuring pat on my back, he nods, smiling. “Relax, relax. That really surprised us, but I’m fine, and so are you.”

“I guess.” I shake my head, still peeved beyond compare. “What the hell was the driver thinking…” 

“Listen to me: we’re both okay, tonight’s going to be fun, you’re taking shots the moment we get there, and you’re going to get laid – so don’t let that driver ruin your mood.”

I bite my lip. I forgot about that, but now that it’s back on my radar, I can confidently say I am  _ definitely _ getting laid tonight. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

“Besides, I heard  _ he’ll _ be there.” Kihyun cooes. 

I snicker, slipping my hands back into the deep pockets of my jacket, wincing slightly at a particularly strong gust of wind from my left. Absentmindedly, I play around with my house keys and red lanyard. “Who?”

“What do you mean who?  _ That _ guy.”

“Which guy?”

“ _ That _ guy you’ve sleeping around with lately.”

As far as I know, the last handful of people I’ve had sex have been one night stands; no one he could say I’ve been ‘ _ sleeping around with lately _ .’ Increasingly perplexed and somewhat lost, I look at him. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“Hyungwon.”

The name fails to ring any bells. However, I rarely learn let alone remember the names of one night stands - there was no use in every doing so. “Sorry. One more time?”

“Hyungwon. Chae Hyungwon.”

“I slept with  _ who _ ?

**Saturday, 22:59**

_ I want you pick me up. _

I can  _ feel _ the pristine mahogany flooring quiver beneath the thick soles of my boots as what appears to be twenty men and women in their early twenties dance in the centre of Minhyuk’s gorgeous living room, stomping their feet in sync to ending chorus of “Pick Me” in a drunken frenzy, index fingers pointed straight at the exorbitant glass chandelier above. After what felt like countless wrong turns, we have somehow arrived to the party. My sobriety is as piercing as the roaring boom of unnecessarily enhanced bass and enthusiastic sing-shouting. Kihyun’s face radiates the eagerness that slowly dwindles with each tentative stride I take as he escorts me excitedly around the dancefloor into the kitchen with the promise of shots, beer, and more shots. 

This is the type of house party I never thought transpired in the real world, outside of the senseless fantasies that were coming-of-age American television and movies. Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty lit. But so lit, I’m more than just a tad caught off guard by its grandiosity.

His hand circles my wrist with unyielding resolution – when Kihyun says shots, it’s fucking time to take shots. However, our journey is not without adversity and casualties, as I glower visibly at the regrettably inebriated girl who drops her red solo cup on my boots. She smiles contritely, but I don’t smile back. Kihyun nearly slips on yet another spill, but he maintains his balance against the hand I have situated against his back.

“God, I’m not carrying you at the end of tonight again.” I warn him. 

“You say that now, but we know you will.” … He’s probably right. 

From the glamorous, costly chandelier, innumerable threads of flashing Christmas lights dangling alluringly overhead, alternating betwixt rogue, blue, violet, green, yellow, and kittenish fuchsia to the sensually dimmed lighting, amped up music blaring from top of the line speakers and strangers getting down to a remix of “TT” has my mood lightening by the second in spite of my minor tipsiness rapidly evaporating. Every surface is clear of important property belonging to Minhyuk, instead adorned by red solo cups, a rather obstreperous round of beer pong, drained aluminum cans and glass bottles on the beautiful marble shelving left of the kitchen entryway, and Jooheon, one of Kihyun’s friends from work, doing body shots of some guy with stunning pink hair, who is discernibly less than satisfied about the chaos he’s found himself in.

“Dude, this is so stupid. Can’t you do these off someone else?” The young man protests. Ironically enough, he straightens the empty shot-glass over top his flat abdomen with more seriousness than his voice would imply. Jooheon giggles as he tries to pour what appears to be whiskey into the short glass. “Jooheon, you’re spilling alcohol all over me. Can you not?”

“Hyungwon,  _ chill _ . The night has to start somewhere.”

“Okay, I get that. But  _ why _ does it have to start on my stomach?”

“When does it  _ not _ ?”

Upon entering the kitchen, I take immediate notice of the ludicrous amounts of hard liquor dispersed atop the impeccable alabaster countertops, eying the five stacks of red solo cups, and two large coolers filled to the brim with ice shaped into perfectly round spheres. I’m astonished at how beautifully the kitchen is furnished in spite of everything and everyone, and how casual Changkyun and Hyunwoo appear, standing against the two-door fridge. Upon closer inspection, Changkyun, holding two shot glasses, is red in the face, while Hyunwoo looks on in acknowledgement, raising a strong hand to wave at us from behind a crowd of young men playing flip-cup at the kitchen island.

“Hey, you two.” Changkyun greets us, looking as cool as ever in a leather jacket, black Thrasher t-shirt and blue jeans. His ears are a bit swollen in appearance from his new piercings, but he doesn’t appear bothered and he looks well put together nonetheless. “Took you guys long enough.”

“I’m glad you guys made it.” Hyunwoo says, but I know it’s directed more so at Kihyun than it is at me with the way he looks him up and down. Even beside Minhyuk’s massive fridge, Hyunwoo still manages to look absolutely gigantic, his slightly baggy red crew neck sweater with the Playstation logo softening his muscles ever so slightly. “What took so long?”

“We had no idea where we were going.” Is Kihyun’s slurred, but undeniably accurate response. We initially anticipated on entering the address into Google Maps, only to forget the most important part of the plan: Minhyuk’s address. Thankfully, we were able to follow the trail of drunk people tumbling down the street past us, and obnoxious music. How Minhyuk hasn’t gotten in trouble for the ruckus he’s causing is far beyond me. “But we’re here now, right?”

“Right.” Says Hyunwoo with a nod.

Side-stepping in between Hyunwoo and Kihyun, Changkyun hands Kihyun and I each a full shot glass. The clear liquid tells me it’s probably Vodka. I love Vodka. Changkyun says, raising his deep voice over the music, “So, now that you’re both here, you guys better catch up.”

“Why?” I ask. “How drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough that you just spoke in Korean but I heard it in English.” 

All I can do is blink and glance to Hyunwoo, who states, shrugging, “People were doing Jäger-bombs earlier.” 

“Anyway, you guys better drink up.” Changkyun insists, and I suddenly notice how teary with alcohol his eyes have become. I forgot how much this boy loves his Jäger-bombs. 

Kihyun lifts his shot glass and I do the same, cheering to all four of us, and Minhyuk for the free booze, to which the three of us cheer even louder to. Changkyun commences a sloppy countdown from five, and, when he hits one, Kihyun and I down the transparent liquid without so much as a second thought. 

There is nothing but burning in the base of my throat, and immense regret. “Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m dying,” is the first thing that leaves my mouth as I raise both hands over my lips, tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “What the fuck did you just give us?”

“It’s this thing I heard about while I was in America. I told Minhyuk about it.” Changkyun replies. “He thought it was cool and decided it to buy it. I’m surprised he actually had it shipped overseas.”

“Okay, but what was that?” I counter immediately. Hyunwoo rubs Kihyun’s back sympathetically as the latter hunches over, arms folded against his disgruntled abdomen.

“Moonshine.” Changkyun grabs the bottle on the counter behind him, and hands it to me.

“ _ One hundred percent alcohol _ ?” I’m shouting at this point, but everyone’s so far gone around us, no one pays me any mind. “Is this even legal?”

“I think it is in America.”

“Is it legal  _ here _ ?”

Changkyun pauses. “I mean, Minhyuk was able to buy it and ship it from America somehow, so I’d assume so.”

Kihyun holds his forehead in his left hand, the other holding onto the kitchen counter tightly in evident distressed. “God, I think I might throw up.” He’s the type to say this after (and before) every shot, and then hold it in without issues, but this time I’m afraid he actually might. To make sure he doesn’t vomit all over the floor, we relocate ourselves to in front of the kitchen sink no thanks to the whoever is fucking loudly in the first floor bathroom. 

The subsequent five or so minutes are spent in agonizing pain, but, for some reason, remedied with more shots chased with Smirnoff Ice. This time we do shots of Fireball, which is still bad, but nowhere near as excruciating as drinking literally nail polish remover. Hyunwoo and Changkyun join in, leading another cheers and slapping each other on the back. 

“Here’s to us.” Hyunwoo says, and it’s not until he finishes speaking that I realize he’s starting to feel it too. A tad giggly, less rigid in his movements and monotonous manner of speaking, it would be dishonest of me to say he is entirely sober at this point in the night. Who’s to say how many he’s had to drink with Changkyun around, our young devil, and a free supply of booze? “Here’s to a good time.”

We all tap our shot glasses together. Kihyun is a bit too excited, nearly spilling his all over himself. “I can get behind that.” He says. “Let’s all have a good time, guys.” 

With his lips pressed against his shot glass, Changkyun snickers, “Right, Hoseok?” 

The three of them down their shots, and Kihyun begins gagging and coughing uncontrollably into his elbow. For someone who drinks often, he’s the worst at taking shots. Changkyun notes I haven’t drank mine yet, and he nudges my arm, motioning at my full glass with his chin. “I’m surprised. Not in the mood for a good time? I heard that guy you’re sleeping around with was going to be here, though.”

I tilt my head, increasingly perplexed. This is the second person tonight. 

Kihyun is completely blasted, so much so, Hyunwoo has to steady him from tumbling into to trio of girls behind us taking selfies in an attempt to leave the kitchen for one reason or another. A little too loudly, he exclaims, “Oh, you mean Hyungwon? I’m pretty sure he’s doing body shots in the living room with Jooheon. I’ll go find him for you.” 

Changkyun looks more insulted than you’d expect. “What? Jooheon that fucker, I told him not to do it without me. Is he still in the living room?” Kihyun shrugs, and Changkyun places his empty shot glass on the counter behind him. “I’ll check in with you guys in a bit; I want in on body shots.” 

“I’ll come.” Volunteers Kihyun and, by default, Hyunwoo is there to follow as both an unofficial boyfriend, but to ensure Kihyun doesn’t ruin his or someone else’s night. When he drinks, he’s sloppier than my English. 

“Okay, guys, that’s super funny.” I put my shot glass on the countertop beside me for a second. Kihyun makes a move to drink it, so I grab it, fully aware of the thankful nod Hyunwoo gives me. “But can you guys lay off on those kind of jokes for tonight?” 

“What ‘jokes’ are you talking about?” Questions Hyunwoo politely. Changkyun stops mid-step to listen. 

“I mean, if you keep joking around about me sleeping with that guy, people might hear and they might actually think I did. Not to mention it’s weird you guys are teasing me about him when I don’t even know what he looks like. If it were Kihyun, it’d be funny because it’s Kihyun and that’s disgusting.” 

“I will fucking hurt you in your sleep.” Kihyun slurs and I laugh, continuing.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is, I barely know this guy’s name and I have no idea where this came from, so could you guys should cut it out. If not for me, then for what’s-his-face.” The laughter I am met with is prolonged and progressively distressing; the manner in which even Hyunwoo wildly chortles into the palm of his hand is an immediate cause for alarm. I attempt to examine their stares, but they each refuse to make eye contact with me as they wail in amusement. At this point, I’m quite tipsy and panicked. “Guys, what’s so funny?” 

“You’re so full of shit.” Kihyun is the first to speak up. “Yeah, okay, sure you didn’t.” 

My brows furrow without intention. “I know you’re wasted, but I swear I didn’t. You guys are just messing with me, right?” I ask, averting my attention to Changkyun and Hyunwoo, who answer back with, “Whatever you say” and “What you do in your sex life is your business, not mine.” 

“I swear I didn’t. I don’t even know what Hongwon looks like.”

“Sure you don’t.” Changkyun begins to pour himself another shot, this time tequila.

“Also, I’m sure you don’t know his name is Hyungwon, not Hongwon.” Kihyun pipes up, holding his empty glass for Changkyun to fill. “It’s been going around the grapevine, but don’t worry - we believe you.” His sarcasm is as loud as Bubble Pop playing in the background.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure even his friends know.” Adds Changkyun.

It’s at this moment that it hits me: they  _ actually  _ think I slept with this guy. While it doesn’t bother me that it’s with a guy so much as it’s with someone who’s face and name I can’t recall, there’s a large portion of me that desires to defend myself. The worst aspect in all of this is the extension of this rumor into Hongwon group of friends. 

Feeling scandalized by my own friends, I repeat, “ I swear I didn’t.” 

All I recieve are skeptical glances and, remembering my neglected shot in my hand, I tilt my head back and swallow it in one quick go. Call it being consumed by my rapidly expanding inebriation, but I’ve come to a decision. I’m going to find and talk to Hongwon and make sure this gets sorted out. I have no clue who this person is, but, with as many mutual friends as we appear to have, we might as well figure this out before it gets out of hand - because I didn’t. 

I swear  _ we  _ didn’t. 

Though, if he’s anywhere as good-looking as that fellow on the living room table with the pink hair and shot glass on his stomach, I wouldn’t mind living up to this rumor. 

 


	2. 100%

**Saturday, 22:55**

“Minhyuk, what the fuck? Can you slow down? You nearly ran those two people over.” Jooheon hollers from the passenger seat in panic as I grip my seatbelt and the backseat itself, doing my best with gritted teeth not to dig my nails and tear into the leather of Minhyuk’s hummer. Looking over his shoulder, Jooheon glances at me with growing concern. “Dude, look, Hyungwon’s motion sickness is acting up again.” 

If I could, I’d throw up, but my head is spinning in such havoc, I can’t even muster the strength to reach over and open the window - because I will not  _ ever  _ vomit in a friend’s card, especially Minhyuk’s. 

God knows I barely have enough of a backbone when Minhyuk drives like this to keep my head up. 

Minhyuk, the intelligent man he is, had forgotten to purchase one of the most important things of the night - red solo cups. Or, at least enough red solo cups. As more and more people arrived to the house, Jooheon and I had took notice of the stack of red cups dwindling in the kitchen and, upon further inspection, concluded that of all things Minhyuk could forget to stack up on, it had to have been cups.  _ Of course. _ Although I offered to remain at the house to keep an eye on things while the other two ventured to the twenty-four hour convenience store a few blocks away, I, once again, was dragged into coming along. Jooheon especially likes doing errands together, which is the primary reason we go grocery shopping together every Thursday together like a trio of housewives with double the gossip. 

“Hyungwon, hold it together, man.” Jooheon calls to me. “Minhyuk, he actually looks like he’s going to hydro-pump all over the inside of your car.” 

Slumped against the backseat, limp and ill against the headrest, I barely make out their conversation up front. 

“He’ll be fine. Besides, Hoseok will be there so if that isn’t enough of a reason for Hyungwon to pull himself together tonight, I don’t know what is.” At this point, I’m now lying on my side, clutching my stomach. I shut my eyes, and, somehow, this helps the nausea considerably. 

“Hyungwon, did you actually sleep with Hoseok?” Jooheon inquires but I’m so sick to my stomach, I can barely formulate a response. “Oh, he fell asleep. Better asleep than sick, I guess. Do you think he did?”

“Sleep with Hoseok? I mean, it’s hard to say? They’re both good looking guys, so they probably took one look at each other and went ‘alright, let’s go’.” Without much warning, Minhyuk turns a corner and the cups in the shopping bag next to me slam against the car door with a loud ‘thud’. “I also can’t imagine where they could’ve possibly met? I mean, Hoseok is friends with Changkyun and we run into him a lot at parties.” 

“I wonder how Hyungwon would even react to Hoseok? From what Changkyun tells me, Hoseok is very upfront and doesn’t wait very long before making a move; he can be pretty aggressive and direct apparently. I can’t imagine Hyungwon taking that very well.”

Minhyuk laughs. “Hyungwon, you may be very handsome, but you’re always so awkward when it comes to these things - our handsome awkward turtle.” 

I hear Jooheon yawn. “Come to think of it, Hyungwon’s been dipping out on some of our plans recently,” In my defense, I’ve been swamped with orders at work. There has been a significant amount of bouquet orders recently and the shop is significantly understaffed - flowers would grow and care for themselves! Not to mention some brides go crazy about this sort of thing. I can only imagine how awful it would be doing their cakes.  _ Yikes _ . “Which he never does. Hyungwon is always there.”

That is true, but it is also very much true these two drag me out of my own home whenever they want to do something, so it’s not as though I’ve willingly been present for every single hang out.  

“Has Changkyun said anything about Hoseok doing the same? Like, has he been bailing on them or acting sketchy?” Inquires Minhyuk.

“I don’t know. From what he says, Hoseok’s usually meeting up with other people for dates and stuff anyway, so it’s not anything new.” 

The three of us go over a particularly bad pothole, and the car bounces with great force. My eyes water as the nausea in my throat develops into a worsened sensation of deep dread. Even if it kills me, I am not going to yack in Minhyuk’s car. With boisterous laughter, Minhyuk says, “I wonder what that would look like.”

“What?” 

“Hyungwon having sex with Hoseok. Like, do you think Hyungwon would…”

“Take it? Probably.” They erupt into such loud laughter, my ears beginning to ring. “Wait, wait, but Hyungwon is taller.”

“So what? Hoseok is so macho and buff, he would probably  _ never  _ take it. Not to mention have you seen Hyungwon as Dodo at last year’s Halloween party?” 

“Ahh, you’re right. Hyungwon’s too awkward - it makes me cringe a little.” 

“Right!?” Minhyuk has reached dolphin levels of pitch. He’s practically ultrasonic. “Our handsome awkward turtle trying to roll on a condom is so cringey.” 

“Our handsome awkward turtle.” I force my eyes open every so slightly, just barely enough to make out Jooheon’s blurred figured turned in his seat to glance at me. “Sleep well, Hyungwon-ie. We love you, our handsome awkward turtle, even if you are literally the definition of cringe.” 

“We’ll always love you and your cringey self.” Shouts Minhyuk.

I feel as much love and care as I feel insulted. 

But, more than anything, if Minhyuk doesn’t stop driving one hundred kilometres an hour, I feel like I might actually vomit. 

**Saturday, 22:59**

This night is a mess, but at least Minhyuk gave me a spare toothbrush and as much mouthwash as my heart desired the moment we returned with enough red solo cups and a big enough catastrophe to last a lifetime. 

To start off, I really shouldn’t have allowed Jooheon to persuade me it would be fun to let him do body shots off my stomach. Especially this early in the night. He does this weird thing where he’ll act cute and, while it makes me cringe at how shameless and embarrassing he is capable of being, I’m always won over by his confidence and sheer determination; how could I fault my best friend for being so damn convincing? 

Truth be told, Minhyuk’s coffee table is somehow even less comfortable than it looks, and the throw cushion offered to me for my head does nothing but bend my neck at a terribly disturbed angle.  _ Pick Me _ is being played so boisterously on the speakers behind me, I’m already certain some level of permanent hearing damage has occurred within the last few minutes. Suddenly, everyone begins hopping and stomping their feet to the chorus, and the strength at which the floor initially trembles nearly knocks me off the table. 

“Dude, this is so stupid. Can’t you do one off someone else?” I protest loudly. Ironically enough, I still straighten the empty shot-glass over top my belly button with more seriousness than my voice would imply. Jooheon giggles as he tries to pour what appears to be whiskey into the shot glass. “Jooheon, you’re spilling alcohol all over me. Can you not?”

“Hyungwon,  _ chill _ . The night has to start somewhere.”

“Okay, I get that. But  _ why _ does it have to start on my stomach?” 

“When does it  _ not _ ?” He has a point, so I shut my mouth and let him do as he pleases. 

Minhyuk is nowhere to be seen. If anything, when Jooheon and I do see him at a party, it is typically a bad omen. With a random shirt someone has abandoned on the floor next to me, I wipe my stomach dry when Jooheon, and company (don’t ask me for their names, because your guess is as good as mine), are finished taking shots off of me. If it weren’t for the fact that the whiskey bottle is now empty, and a third of it was spilled on me and the floor around me, they most certainly would have kept going. Jooheon doesn’t stop me from getting up. Instead, he pats me on the back for being a good sport, which has become my default style of friendship when it comes to both Jooheon and Minhyuk. Being in a friendship with two immensely bold personalities for as long as I have, I’ve learned that someone sooner or later has to give in, and I, for the most part, am willing to be that person. That said, I tap Jooheon’s shoulder authoritatively, motioning at his pocket with my index and ring finger. 

“You’ve had more than enough to drink. Pass it over.” I declare just loud enough for him to distinguish the seriousness in my voice. As much as I prefer not to babysit my friends at parties, I also prefer knowing for certain I won’t wake up the following afternoon with panicked texts about drunk calling and texting an ex or, even worse, someone else’s ex. With robot-like obedience, he drops his brand new iPhone X in my palm without so much as a complaint or snarky remark, unlike Minhyuk. “Thank you very much.” 

“When do I get it back again?” Questions Jooheon.

“When you’re sober enough to remember my last name.” 

“Choi?” 

“You’re my best friend and I love you, but no.” 

“Cha?” 

“Closer, but that’s not what my birth certificate says. Sorry, dude.”

“Lee?” 

“That’s  _ your  _ last name. Minhyuk’s too.” The response is lost in its entirety in the infectious intro of  _ Bubble Pop _ immediately taking over Jooheon’s limbs and remaining consciousness. I’ll have to remember to run out in the morning to purchase some Gatorade for him to drink before he wakes up, and extra-strength garbage bags for when we tidy and Jooheon inevitably throws up every misguided decision to take more shots than his body can handle. 

“Oh, hey, it’s you.” In an olive, scorched brown and black flannel reminiscent of autumn and dried, fallen leaves, a young man with bright reddish-orange hair greets me with a coy smile and blue beer can in hand. His hair does nothing but to amplify the flustered appearance in his cheeks, and give the look of total intoxication. Without thinking, I look glance me. “No, no, you. I’m talking to you with the pink hair.” 

“Sorry, I thought maybe you were saying ‘hi’ to someone behind me.” The words stumble about in an awkward slur and stutter. He looks familiar, but I can’t conjure any names to save my life. “Are you one of Minhyuk’s friends?” 

The appearance of a sneer crosses his face as he sips his beer and I’m not entirely certain if its from the alcohol or the assumption he is friendly with Minhyuk. In either case, I neither fault nor take offense to it - if anything, I can wholeheartedly relate. “I’m friends with Jooheon.” 

“Oh, cool. Me too.” I nod awkwardly. “So, how do you know Jooheon?.” 

“Why aren’t you in the kitchen?” He says, ignoring my (poor) attempt at conversation. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Hoseok’s in the kitchen, you know. You should go talk to him.” 

“Who?” 

“There you are.” Ambling behind him, a visibly concerned and considerably more sober fellow built like a truck grabs the orange-haired young man by the shoulder. By the way the guy with the orange hair not-so-subtly brushes his hand against the front of the other guy’s pants tell me they’re definitely more than well acquainted. “Kihyun, I’ve been looking all over for you. You need to sober up.” 

“More like you need to sober down.” Kihyun holds out his beer in offering. “Chug it.” 

“No.” 

“But Hyunwoo…”

“No.”

“Fine.Then I will.” While I don’t know either of them, I can empathize with Hyunwoo’s struggle to manage someone as evidently unbothered and extroverted as Kihyun. Unsure of what to do, I stand back and watch their back and forth until Hyunwoo becomes aware of my discomforted presence. Whether or not this is disadvantageous, I’m more than certain l’ll eventually find out. 

Politely, he bows, apologizing profusely as Kihyun wiggles his hips enthusiastically to the chorus of  _ Shake It _ . “Was he bothering you? I’m really sorry. He’s been drinking a lot and our friend, Changkyun, kept giving him shots. Kihyun can be quite the handful, but he’s a nice person and I hope he wasn’t too much of an inconvenience -”

“It’s no problem. Seriously, we’re cool.” I cut him off, afraid he’ll keel over from a lack of oxygen with the way he talks a mile a minute. 

“Again, I’m  _ really  _ sorry on his behalf.” With a strong hand, he holds it out for me to shake. I reach for his, and he grasps my hand with a startlingly fierce grip. “Hyunwoo. And your name?” 

“Hyungwon. Nice to meet you.” Something appears to have clicked, because I quickly find myself subject to a flurry of apologies once more. 

“Hyungwon, I am so sorry. Please, accept my apology.” 

“Yeah, no worries. It’s no problem.” I shrug. “All he said was something about some guy being in the kitchen, and that was it.”

By the look on his face, Hyunwoo knows more than he is leading on when he says, “That’s Kihyun - he says really weird things when he drinks. Don’t mind him.”

“Are you talking about me?” Kihyun teases a little louder than I am comfortable with. 

“Kihyun.” Says Hyunwoo seriously, pleadingly. 

“All I did was tell him Hoseok was in the kitchen.” 

“Kihyun.”

Knocking his hips against Hyunwoo, he sings along to the last line of _ Shake It _ (very well, might I add) before shouting, “What? Hoseok wants to get laid tonight and he - “ he motions to me with his beer and a tilt of his brightly colored head “already slept with him so I thought I’d help a friend out.” 

“Hoseok…” I mumble under my breath, but cannot deduce where I’ve heard this name before. As of late, I’ve been far too preoccupied with horticultural pursuits, services and studies, while also babysitting Jooheon and Minhyuk on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis and feeding into their constant needs for attention and companionship. Between tending to the shop’s garden, attempts to keep up with my friends and their inane excursions, and my own self-inflicted faulty sleeping pattern, I’ve had very insufficient time for sexual thoughts and aspirations, let alone uprooting physical diversions. To save face and quickly extinguish the growing sensation of nervousness in my stomach, I bow politely before excusing myself. “I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. Anyway, I’ll see you two later. Have a good one.” 

Feeling an urgent need for some cold water and fresh air, I slither my way against the wall, around the raucous dancefloor and its increasingly inebriated participants. Being tall and lanky has its perks, as I snake away from Hyunwoo and Kihyun with ease. Thankfully, I arrive in the kitchen one piece - reeking of shame and whiskey, but in one piece nonetheless. Grabbing a red cup from the kitchen counter, I hold it under the sink and let it fill a comfortable amount before turning on my heel and leaving. Normally, Minhyuk never allows party guests to wander onto the second floor. As wild as it gets, even Minhyuk has his limits and rules he harps guests about, even if considerably low for most people. Though this rule is typically not followed, guests meandering where they shouldn’t are instantly discouraged by tightly locked doors, and, if caught, a drunken (but well meant) scolding. 

Of course, this rule does not apply to me, and I abuse this whenever possible. An introvert at heart, I can only be immersed in so much chaos and conversation before demanding some time to sit out and recoup, preferably isolated away from others. I resolve to drink my water and lie down for a moment upstairs, maybe even browse Reddit on Minhyuk’s computer and screenshot his browsing history for our group-chat until I’m ready to come back out - or when a fire starts, the police arrive or both. 

_ We’ll see.  _

Anything is possible under Minhyuk’s roof. 

Fingering the second floor key in my pocket, I take a glance around the kitchen and then the overcrowded living room. Before I barricade myself in Minhyuk’s bedroom for some peace and quiet (or, at least as quiet as it can be for a party), I scan the first floor for his animated face and quirky red shirt. All I need is to I have his phone to keep Jooheon’s company in my back pocket, and I’ll know I did him  _ some  _ good for once - even if Minhyuk protests otherwise. When it becomes clear he’s nowhere to be found, I hurry up the stairs with high hopes he’s as responsible with his phone as Jooheon is irresponsible with his. With an uncomfortable “excuse me”, I brush past the couple making out at the bottom of the stairs and young man dressed in all black scrolling down  _ Instagram  _ on his phone. I bump my knee against him on my way up and apologize as he glances up at me, our eyes locking very briefly. 

“Sorry about that.”  

**Saturday, 23:16**

Hyungwon is significantly more attractive than I could have imagined, or even hoped for - much more handsome than his  _ Instagram  _ photos which, thankfully, are public. Thank god he posts so many selfies, or I wouldn’t have been certain it was him walking past me up the stairs just now. 

 

_ My fucking god is he gorgeous.  _

 

I’m actually rather stunned. Not that I necessarily had any sort of preconceived idea of his appearance, but I was most certainly not anticipating someone as tall, handsome or, given the considerably less than ideal circumstances we are in now, sober. However, with the distance between us waning, the young man reeks of whiskey the nearer he becomes. Up close, in the hallway and the subpar lighting the windows behind me provide, his complexion is very even and clear, eyes wide with hidden lids with deep folds, and shapely lips. Equally as startled by me as I am him and his remarkable attractiveness, we remain wordless for a moment, gawking at each other both stunned, yet knowingly. Gulping inaudibly but very much visibly,  his Adam’s apple dropping to the base of his throat before rising, he begins to unlock the bedroom door briskly. “Excuse me, you aren’t allowed up here. Can you please go back downstairs? Minhyuk doesn’t like guests wandering around up here.” 

 

Provided the corner I’ve been pushed into, a large part of me wonders if he’s in the same boat as me; if he’s at all aware of the rumor around and on the receiving end of prying stares. Initially somewhat of a slanderize cry at my character, the suddenly prideful feeling that takes over me extinguishes whatever moderate shame first took hold of me. He’s a looker and, even having never met him until now, the rumor’s taken a whole new appearance in my eyes. It’s almost a compliment? Or, perhaps, a means to make  _ this  _ happen? 

 

His fumbling with the silver key gives me the opportunity to reduce our distance even further. Hyungwon, more awkward than uncomfortable by my presence, does not flinch nor move away as I step closer. Instead, an increasingly perplexed manner takes over an otherwise awkward impression.  

 

“Are you drunk?” He inquires with genuine consideration, “If you want, I can help you down the stairs and find your friends? I’m sure they’re worried about you.” 

 

“No, I’m not drunk.” Watered down and (somewhat) clearheaded, yet considerably still red-faced and teary-eyed, Hyungwon, unlocking the bedroom as his frail shoulders relax noticeably, doesn’t appear at all convinced of my (slowly growing) sobriety. It’s all in my face, and, possibly, the slur in my words. I can never tell if I’m slurring; I refuse to believe anyone confidently can when they are either. With great certainty and the smug expressions of my friends in mind, I state, “I’m fine. My friends aren’t looking for me.” 

 

“Are you sure? You really shouldn’t be up here, though.”  _ God _ , he’s so beautiful. I could jump him, shove him against the wall, onto the bed, tear off his clothes, let him tear mine off as well, live whatever inane rumor of us is going around knowing it wouldn’t matter if we did it or not. “What’s your name?” 

 

Without flinching, Hyungwon watches me inch closer. Just near enough for him to touch me, tilt his head down and kiss me - so close I could touch him, it’s almost agonizing what just being near him does to my thoughts. Blame it on the liquor, a history of unsavory decisions, my inclination for the carnal and prioritization of my libido over my (debatable, at times) conscience, and propensity to act impetuously, but, all of this in mind and the amalgamation of my faults don’t lessen how stunning he is or how strongly my body wants to be pressed against his. “Hoseok.” 

 

“I’m sorry, one more time?” Hyungwon leans in closer, deafened to some extent by the ruckus below. “What’s your name?” 

 

“Lee Hoseok.”  _ This  _ is where it begins. It appears my name seems to rings enough bells to compensate for the lack of recognition my appearance is given, though, admittedly, this is our first time meeting. He straightens away from me, stumbling over his two (apparently) left feet into the open doorway with a yelp and thin arms flailing. Following him into the dark room, I grope the bedroom wall in search of a light switch before settling for what feels like a desk lamp to my right. With a flick of my wrist, there he is, illuminated just enough to make out his embarrassed face and the messiness of his pink hair, how his shirt has risen amidst his fall revealing a flat stomach rippling with the slightest suggestion of abs, eyes as wide as saucers, staring upwards at me from his place on the floor at the food of the bed. “Uh, do you need a hand?” 

 

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” Hyungwon takes a second before rising to his feet, appearing scatterbrained  as he stumbles back atop the bed behind him. It is at this instance which it occurs to me how grandiose the bedroom is - at least three times the size of my apartment living room, with beautiful furniture coordinating in color and mood, yet muddled by the video game posters which cover its richly painted walls, unkempt bed sheets, clothes strewn about the floor, and takeout containers filling the metallic garbage bin beside me, right of the computer desk. The two TVs a few feet away at my side are both turned off, the collection of past and current consoles connected to each screen astonish me. Not to mention the top of the line gaming computer on the desk behind me which, according to prices I have seen online, retail for nearly quadruple my monthly rent. For such an otherwise gorgeous living space and top of the line tech-setup, it is very readily apparent whoever lives here (I can only assume this is Minhyuk’s room)  is in dire need of some cleaning and, judging by the quantity of clothes on the floor, laundry. My gaze returns to Hyungwon and he shakes his head. 

 

“This place is a mess, I know. For the record, this isn’t my room - it’s Minhyuk’s. I don’t live here. I just wanted to be alone and take a second to lie down so he gave me a key to get into his room.” I nod and he pauses, still a little awkward. “Anyway, I really don’t mean to be rude, but you should probably go back downstairs. Minhyuk wouldn’t be happy if he knew you came into his room without his permission.” 

 

“What’s your name?” Hyungwon blanks in response. I know it’s him, but I want the confirmation, so I can at least feel like we’re on equal footing. “I’m sorry?” 

 

“You asked me my name and I answered. Lee Hoseok.” I reply, with slow, elongated steps towards the foot of the bed where he sits idly. He watches me, staring down at my thighs and low v-neck, eying whatever he can of my chest from beneath my shirt uncovered by its neckline, and my shoulders from underneath my jacket. He might as well take a picture for later, though, with the way I ogle him, he could very much argue I might as well take an album of him. I stop directly before of him, just close enough to grab him if I wanted to, and for him to reach up and grab me too. “What’s yours?” I repeat. 

 

“Ch-Chae Hyungwon.” Is his nervous answer. 

 

A part of me wants to laugh, and it takes over me. My arms wrap around my waist and I begin to laugh, much harder than I had expected. Maybe it’s the stupidity of it all, and the combination of how worked up I had initially been in conjunction to the suddenness of his attractiveness that caught me off guard just minutes ago. “So,  _ you’re  _ Hyungwon.”

 

“Yeah, and, so,  _ you’re  _ Hoseok.”  He laughs and the smile that crosses his face, though small, is bright and exceedingly charming. It suits him very nicely. “You’re that guy I apparently…” 

 

“Slept with? Yeah,  _ apparently _ .” I reply, the weight of our situation subsiding significantly as Hyungwon snickers into his opened palm. 

 

**Sunday, 0:42**

 

“This whole thing is so ridiculous and backwards. Really. Not to mention I didn’t think I’d actually meet you -  _ the  _ Lee Hoseok I’ve heard so much about in the last twenty-four hours.” How any of this happened is an enigma. One moment, I’m hurrying upstairs to lie down and rest, maybe doze off few a few minutes, and the next I’m alone in Minhyuk’s room with someone who is rumored to have slept with me - or I am rumored to have slept with? It probably doesn’t matter either way. In any case, while Jooheon and Minhyuk have a propensity to exaggerate even the most negligible of details, this is the first time they’ve somehow made quite the understatement - this understatement being Hoseok’s apparent level of attractiveness. His face is startlingly symmetrical (I once read on Reddit this is considered scientifically beautiful, which I don’t necessarily disagree with the more I look at him), and he’s much fitter than I imagined, even from under his baggy jacket. “Until now, I’ve never even met someone with the name ‘Hoseok.’”

 

“Yep, well, that’s my name.” He replies with a tilted smile so handsome, I’m shocked at how long I’m left staring at him, gaping at how wonderfully striking he his. From what little I know of him, he’s very pleasant to be around so far. 

 

“I ran into your friends earlier, by the way - the really buff dude and the shorter guy with the brightly dyed hair. They’re…” 

 

“Kind of fucked? Probably. They’ve been drinking quite a bit tonight. Sorry if they caused you any trouble. 

 

“No, no, not at all. If anything, I’m really sorry about that rumor.” It’s a sincere apology, even if neither of us are at fault. Hoseok shifts from one foot from another, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously. “I have no clue where any of this came from, but I’m really sorry if it did you any damage.” 

 

“Damage?” He glances down at me from my placement on the edge of Minhyuk’s creaking mattress, bewildered. 

 

The most I can offer is a short shrug and tilt of my head. “Well, you know, if the rumor had some negative impact on you or made you look bad - something like that.”

 

He shakes his head. “Of course not. I mean, you’re a good-looking guy so it’s kind of a compliment.” 

 

I can’t help by smile. “Why, thank you. That’s surprisingly really flattering.”

 

“Besides…” He trails off. 

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“You know that saying - when life gives you lemons, make lemonade?” He begins to snicker, and I follow suit, though I’m uncertain of what he means. He steps closer, just barely between the gap between my thighs, but not enough to cause distress, but more than enough for me to notice his company within my personal bubble. He observes me with what is discernibly high expectations and a smile wide enough his eyes disappear into mirthful slits atop his  _ aegyo-sal _ . 

 

I chuckle, for the life of me incapable of reading others, “Yeah. And?” 

 

“So, let’s just go with it.” Hoseok moves even closer, his legs touching my inner thighs, invading my personal space entirely with a slow step forward. My breath becomes caught in my throat the instant he plants his palms upon my thighs, his hands substantially stronger than I imagined for his height. With his fingers moving towards my groin and inner thighs, I cannot contain my intractable laughter, born more so out of an innate awkwardness than the apparent lack of humor in Hoseok’s actions. I don’t do well with strangers, especially attractive ones, this close to me. Just barely avoiding a turbulent stutter, I manage to spit out,  “And by that you mean?” 

 

With the brightest smile I’ve ever seen, Hoseok declares, “When there’s a rumor going around about us fucking, then we might as well fuck, right?” 

 

I blank. “Okay, wait, what?” 

 

“What?”

 

“I’m sorry, but I’m not quite following you -”

 

**Sunday, 0:50**

 

It’s been ages since I’ve last kissed a boy - I almost forgot how exhilarating the feeling was. 

 

A smidge apprehensive, Hyungwon’s mouth melts against mine as his lips part to moan and produce perfect access for our tongue to meet. Startled, a tremble rolls down to his thighs and I tighten my grip around them, rubbing the inside of them comfortingly. With lanky arms, he draws me nearer, until I’m forced to crawl atop his precipitously frantic body, straddling his meek hips and grinding hard enough to cause slew of unexpectedly prurient shivers and groans. The way his pink hair messes itself into disarray against foreign sheets, how cardinal and wild his complexion is now tinted, illuminated meticulously in dim fluorescence and ever-peeking moonlight behind me, awakens an offshore yearning I’ve yet to dip my toes in. Ardor teems in Hyungwon’s dilated pupils, fixated on me, fixated on my mouth. Without so much as a word, I happily oblige the desperation in his stare and accept the moan that rumbles against my lips equally as unfathomably hungry. 

 

There’s neither rhyme nor reason as to why humans do the things they do; why they submit to their primitive desires they do, why we lose complete control of our senses the way we seek to do. Sweet boys like Hyungwon, reserved and jovial upon first glance, deep down, possess the same barbaric urges as most humans do - myself most definitely included, and, without question, I am more than willingly to allow Hyungwon to indulge in his urges through me to his heart’s content. I hastily undo and tug at his belt and my own, removing the faux-leather to be done with it, and the two of us laugh as they slam against Minhyuk’s bookshelf with an unnecessarily deafening slap. 

 

I am sure to acquaint my fingertips and palms with the feeling of his skin, the near-electric reactiveness of his flesh beneath  hands reason enough to put on hold sucking face to commence ferociously tearing away at our clothes. My jacket and shirt are the first to be eliminated. Hyungwon’s are destined to follow their fate, lifeless and forgotten on Minhyuk’s floor, if it weren't for the stupefied expression that crosses his face as I reach for his shirt. I position my middle and index finger beneath his chin and raise my fingers, watching as his mouth shuts and realization overtakes him. “Like what you see?” 

 

Hyungwon sputters, blinking his eyes rapidly. He tries to avert his stare, but, without much effort, his attention inevitably returns to me, my shoulders, my arms, my abs, and my hands that tug at the tips of his shirt. “Wait, slow down. Look, you’re really hot, but my friends - your friends… but...”

 

“‘But ‘what? Are you worried they’ll think we’re having sex? I think it’s a  _ little  _ too late for that.” Without so much as a warning, I force his shirt over his head and relish in the embarrassed way his arms encircle my neck, tugging our chests together. Somehow, he is very cold to the touch like this. It feels as if I might crush his ribcage from under me with how near paper-thin he is.  

 

Our eyes lock and a smile bleeds across his previously apprehensive stare. I bite my lip in response to the way he looks at me when he says, “I mean, when there’s a rumor about us fucking, then we might as well fuck, right?” 

 

His eyes widen at the way I roll my hips against him, grazing over his boner in a way that causes Hyungwon to dig his nails into my back. With a deep, sharp grip, he drags his nails down my back. Instantly, my spine arches with a shudder, and his throat rips yet another splendid moan as I unintentionally grind against him once more.  _ Jesus _ , for a skinny fucker, he’s also unpredictable as hell. 

 

“Unpredictable, I’ll take. But am I really that skinny?”  _ Whoops _ . 

 

“Compared to me, you are.” Smooth, Hoseok. Even if my counter rubs him like sandpaper.  _ Smooth _ . “Besides, being skinny means I can do things like this.” Un-straddling him to kneel to left on the mattress, quickly familiar with the creaking of Minhyuk’s mattress, I quite literally throw him. He falls flat on his back, bouncing very briefly, laughing. I use this to my advantage, sneaking up on him to yank off his jeans. 

 

Now, this is where my thinking becomes progressively muddled, clouded by my impulsiveness and need to fuck Hyungwon so deep, he’ll be sure to ache tomorrow; an excess of testosterone and blood-flow wrecking my body while a blaring throbbing in my groin and appearence of pre-cum seeping through Hyungwon’s striped boxers demolishes the mere notion of “self-restraint”. His laughter is directly followed and replaced by an anticipation so painfully obvious, there’s absolutely no way I’d miss the opportunity to tease him the instant his eyes fall into my boner through my jeans. Instead of mirroring his bottoms, mine remain in tact, tight against my thighs, as I make another move to tear what's left to on him. Discarding his black and white striped boxers over my shoulder, I pry his legs apart, palms pressed against his quivering knees, sliding down to his thighs, and, after finding a comfortable position between his limbs, I kneel down, amusement flourishing at the sight of Hyungwon’s bewilderment. 

 

Before he gets to protest - not even so much as a word, my lips encircle the tip of his cock, clearing away his pre-cum, thick, strangely pleasant, and seemingly unending, with the tip of my tongue and swallowing, his body jolting abruptly this way and that. In my dim peripheral, Hyungwon’s fingers, elegant and brittle like the rest of him, grab fistfulls of Minhyuk’s navy sheets. His body writhes in an eagerness - an absolute, unquenched  _ thirst  _ \- I’ve yet to encounter; or, at least, has yet to totally mesmerize and enthrall me to a ravaging degree such as this. Lips parted in a wondrous  _ ‘o’ _ , prolonged by an transparent fermata, he breathes out the most beguiling grunts and groans, cultivating an array of goosebumps line my arms and along my spine. With a slow lick, sliding my tongue from the base of his cock, up its veiny underside, his flustered tip my inevitable trajectory, the sound of his breath hitching is music to my ears. His fingers undo themselves from its tight fistfuls of exorbitant cloth to grip my hair loosely despite the aggressive need to indulge him. Which, truthfully, is all I want this very second. 

 

“More…” He gasps. If it’s more he wants, who am I to deny him? Forcing more of him than I am familiar with into my mouth and just barely down my throat (blow jobs are not my forte - I can admit that), I delight in how his legs tremble adorably. “More, more, more…” 

 

**Sunday, 1:15**

 

After a bout of incoherently fumbling a bottle of lube, discovered untouched and neglected in Minhyuk’s mahogany dresser, effectively spilling a large portion of it contents onto the bed after squeezing a tad too hard, watching Hyungwon finger himself (resulting in the most tortuous blue balls of my life), and rolling on a ribbed condom, also thanks to Minhyuk, I rest my sweaty palms on Hyungwon’s hips. In my hands, I can discern his hip bones through his thin skin against the tips of my fingers, certain that, with enough determination, I could shatter the poor boy. Hyungwon is so delicate, he might as well have been born of glass and tissue-paper.  The way he wriggles his body has my eyes rolling back into my skull, and grip tightening. I dig my nails into his skin and watch how lovely he appears with his back arched, ass pressed against my front, writhing and adjusting to my cock. 

 

Presently, I have no choice but to come to terms with the unruly longing to ruin him, leave scratches, bites, hickeys and whatever marking I conjure up to dissuade others from taking what -  _ who  _ \- I now consider  _ mine _ . Yet, simultaneously, I want to caress and kiss him deeply, go as slow and gently as possible so I may burn into my memory the face and noise he makes when I thrust my hips and his orgasm ripples through his wispy figure. Regardless, one thing remains an stubborn constant: how much I want him and how much he clearly craves for me.  

 

I test the waters with timid movements, wary of his body language and how tightly he fists the bedsheets by his head. At this angle, his face is hidden, buried deep into a rounded throw pillow with white piping, muffling his pain, muffling his pleasure. I lean over him, whispering into his scapula softly. “Hey, are you alright? Does it hurt?”

 

“I’m fine.” I pull away when he turns to look at me over his shoulder. His side profile is absolutely stunning and, the more I stare at him, the more apparent it becomes he lacks unflattering angles. No matter which way he turns his head to observe me, he never fails to catch me off guard. With a small bite of his lip and deep moan, he breathes out an unexpected, “No offense, it’s just that you’re  _ much  _ bigger than I expected, not that I mind...” 

 

His words sends a shiver down my spine and we share a knowing smile. Without warning, Hyungwon begins to motion his hips, forcing himself down on my cock only to pull away playfully. With his head still turned to watch me, my limbs become jelly as he picks up speed and raises himself. Hyungwon’s back arches and quivers as he holds himself up with stiff arms. “Holy, shit…” I mumble, just barely audible between his sweet moans and deep breaths. 

 

“Fuck…!”I decide to take matters into my own hands. I thrust my hips without much effort, watching with great appreciation at how vocal he is, crying out much louder than expected. Raspy and genuine, his voice when entirely uncontrolled and raw is exquisite as he breaths wanton  _ ‘yes’s _ ,  _ ‘harder’s _ , and  _ ‘fuck yes’s _ . Who would’ve thought such an unassuming young man could be this thirsty when doors closed and clothes are torn off? A rhythm between us occurs naturally, so I accelerate every so slightly, moving with substantially increased confidence as I lean forward to cover his smooth back with kisses along his upper spine and bony shoulders. 

 

A young man full of surprises, he crawls away to lie on his back. After finding a comfortable spot on the bed, avoiding the spilled lube to his right, Hyungwon spreads his legs for me. His knees part so beautifully and he beckons towards me with a laugh, “Are  _ you  _ alright?” 

 

I crawl after him, position myself between him and sliding into him slowly, now in view of his full array of facial expressions. I place a kiss on his nose and mumble softly, “No offense, it’s just that you’re much tighter than I expected, not that I mind.”

 

“‘Much tighter’ than you expected? Is that an insult?” He questions with a snicker, though shuts up immediately as I push myself back in completely. His body trembles as he lifts a hand to fondle his erection. 

 

“And if it was? _ Jesus christ _ .” He pulls me close, wrapping his legs around me, somehow forcing me deeper into him. The two of us shiver against each other, and, again, we find our rhythm. He empties my mind as quickly as he crams it with lewd thoughts of him, only exacerbated by the way he tightens around my cock as if begging to release himself, to release  _ me _ . I tug away his hand to replace my own over his cock, stroking with exaggeratedly uneven strokes to tease him. Hyungwon’s deeply saturated eyes widen and his jaw laxes completely to emit a variety of moans from the base of his throat, and desperate growls his thin chest heaves out with every particularly deep thrust. Before either of us know it, my hands are covered in his cum and his body convulses, his climax consuming him violently as he rolls his hips in time with mine, doing all within his power to prolong his orgasm as mine arrives shortly after. My motions become frantic and my body shudders only for exhaustion to wash over me.  

 

Sliding out of him, I can’t help but rest atop of him, our disconnected patterns of breathing slowly becoming in sync as we lie in silence only for him to snicker out a, “So, are you alright?”  

 

Rolling my eyes, I use Hyungwon’s shoulder to wipe away his cum from my hand, thoroughly entertained by the ‘ _ ew gross _ ’ that follows, and feeble  attempt to roll away from under me. But I remain firmly planted. He’s not going anywhere. 

 

And I’m starting think I’m not either. 

 

“Are  _ you  _ alright?” 

 

We laugh. 

 

**Sunday,** **_0:45_ **

 

“Minhyuk-ah!” Jooheon shouts over my shoulder, and I spread my arms instinctively to catch him as he leaps forward. Trailing after him, noticeably more sober but unconvincingly so on his own, Changkyun greets me with a brief nod. With Changkyun is Hyunwoo and his boyfriend - Kiyeon? Kihyuk? Gihyun? You know what,  _ close enough _ . 

 

“Hey, guys, have you seen Hyungwon?” Is the first thing that leaves my mouth. 

 

“Nope, but isn’t he with your friend, Changkyun?” 

 

“Hoseok? Probably.” 

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised - but that’s none of our business.” 

 

“It’s not, but it’s still kind of funny because it’s Hoseok.” 

 

I blink, speechless. Laughing, Changkyun says, “Minhyuk, you better hope Hoseok doesn’t wreck your bedsheets.” 

 

“If he’s with Hyungwon, I have nothing to worry about.” I shrug. “Hyungwon is our handsome awkward turtle; he would never let anything like that happen - especially on  _ my  _ bed.” 

 

**Sunday, 1:52**

 

“Shit, do you think he’ll notice?” I bury my face deeper into his chest. He smells just like lemonade. Go figure. 

 

“It’s Minhyuk, I doubt it.” I reply. 

 

“Are you sure? You spilled nearly half a bottle of lube on his bed -  _ Minhyuk’s  _ lube, for that matter.” 

 

“Well, it isn’t like he’s had any reason to be using it lately.” 

 

Hoseok gapes at me, before planting an affectionate kiss on my temple. “Savage. I like that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE:  
> SORRY I’m awful at smut lol. 
> 
> BUT ALSO, for fic requests, comment following and possibly let me know what you thought of this one?:  
> \- What ship?  
> \- POV? (Third person, first person, Hyungwon’s POV, Wonho’s POV etc)  
> \- Rating? (I’m cool with fluff and smut -love me my cinnamon and sinnamon roll MONSTA X)  
> \- Theme? Ideas? Major plot point(s)? OR you can just give me a conversation you’d like me to include in and or/base the fic around like the description/summary of this one.  
> \- Any other pertinent information you’d like me to hit? (ie., bonus points if xyz happens or x-member does or says whatever)
> 
> I am in dire need or writing practice. ALSO, all of this said, depending on how my mind processes your request (ie., if it’s easy or hard for me to churn out), it may or may not take 5 to 10 business days for me to post. I will DM you once completed and posted! :)


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